


What She Looks for in a Lover

by MageUnderground (Rhaenyrra)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, Crushes, F/M, Romance, Secret Crush, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaenyrra/pseuds/MageUnderground
Summary: The Inquisition has left the building! Josephine sends Inquisitor Kenna on a tour of Thedas, recruiting new forces excited to align themselves with the most powerful woman in the world, nobles and commoners alike. Days on the road are lonely though, can she be blamed for wanting to find comfort in the arms of another?





	1. An Interesting Proposal

Sheafs of parchment thumped heavily on the dark wooden table, causing the bronze figures scattered across its top skittering in agitation as Leliana straightened the edges of stack against its solid mass. Kenna groaned inwardly at its thickness, only barely managing to hide her distaste as the spymaster handed her the pieces, which made a wad thick enough to rival one of Varrics manuscripts.

“The Inquisitions budget for last month,” Leliana said as Kenna began leafing through the document absently. “As requested.” She cursed herself for making the demand of her adviser so many months ago, that she be able to review the inquisitions expenses and incomes; she considered the activity to be a necessary evil, despite the assurances from both Leliana and Josephine that such an arduous task did not have to fall on her shoulders. She wondered if Leliana reminded her “as requested” whenever relinquishing the files as a polite reprimand for being so stubborn. The inquisitor forced herself to smile as she tucked the stack under one arm.

“Thank you very much, Leliana,” she replied. “I’ll be sure to read these over this evening.” She promised herself hopefully, even as she glanced outside to eye the deepening blue of the night sky. Evening had already come and gone, she realized, and they were already well into the night. Josephine followed her gaze and laughed.

“Where does the time go?” The ambassador lamented. They had gathered in the war room at noon, when the sun had reached its zenith in a clear blue sky; she could not recall when it had disappeared behind Skyholds ramparts, nor when the fat full moon had replaced its position in the heavens above. Wavering visions of the map sprawled on the table before them painted portraits across her lids even when she turned away, after so many hours plotting their force’s movement across its face. She realized suddenly that her head was aching painfully. Kenna slid off of her stool to let her feet thump heavily on the bare stone beneath her, already half turning in an attempt to escape and maybe catch a few hours of sleep before the dawn came - after, of course, looking over the budget still tucked beneath her arm.

“If that would be all…” She let her voice trail off in an unspoken plea.

“Actually no,” Josephine admitted. “There is one more matter we were hoping to address.” Kenna swallowed a sigh behind tight lips and turned back to the three standing across the war table from her. Leliana was lounging in her cushioned seat, arms resting on its low wooden back and glaring at the ceiling, looking less like she was planning the future of the inquisition and more like a student caught dozing through a particularly difficult lecture. Cullen was stuff shouldered and professional as ever; his stature was relaxed but controlled, a commander at his duty. Josephine, however, had stood and was leaning over the war table, one long finger nail tapping rhythmically at its surface.

“Of course,” Kenna forced the words out, though they were thick in her mouth. Josie looked pleased to have her attention, if not nervous for whatever she was about to address.

“The inquisition has been growing rapidly in the past months, especially since our visit to the Winter Palace,” she paused while Cullen let out an exaggerated sigh, no doubt remembering what for him had been an arduous affair. “And we find ourselves in an interesting position. We have become almost entirely self sufficient since our move to Skyhold.” She slid a role of parchment that she produced quickly from a bundle pushed to one side of the map, waiting while Kenna untwined the chord binding it loosely in place and unfurling it across the table before her. Rows of handwriting scrawled in Josephine’s delicate pen were arranged in tidy columns, punctuated by rows of tiny numbers, some of which that had been hastily crossed out, as if someone were correcting a count.

“What am I looking at Josie?” She asked, more than a little concerned.

“Inventory - well, of a sort,” She explained. “It is a count of all of our vendors, food stores, lyrium imports, craft resources, craftsmen, soldiers, Templars, mages, and anything else that could possibly produce or consume resources currently under the Inquisitions protection of employ.” She said this proudly, obviously excited to be presenting the results of what must have been a considerable amount of effort. Kenna wondered when the ambassador could possible have found the time to orchestrate the production of such a thorough document. She scanned the list, worriedly pulling her long braid from over her should to finger the knots as she did.

“And why are you showing me this?”

“As you can see, we have a surplus of the supplies required to sustain us-” She explained.

“But a deficit in many other areas,” Cullen interrupted, continuing his colleagues train of thought. “While pilgrims pour in from across Thedas every day, we’re welcoming fewer recruits into the Inquisitions forces than ever before.”

“And it’s not just soldiers we lack,” Leliana continued. “Skilled craftsmen are always needed. Physicians and healers are in short supply, and even the ranks of my agents could be bolstered now that we are a greater institution than ever before.” Kenna’s eyes swung down across the columns Josie had carefully arranged for her, confirming that all of this was true. The looked back up, her brows pulled together in confusion.

“So what are you asking Josephine?” She asked pointedly; her ambassador shone with a thousand good qualities, but years mediating disputes between Orlesia’s bickering nobility had somewhat dulled her ability to either forward and succinct. While Kenna understood the need for such behaviour at a ball, between the two of them she found Josie’s evasive nature trying at best. Despite her best efforts to induce a frankness in their relationship, most of the time she was frustrated with their war-table interactions.

“This is the heart of the matter, Inquisitor: we need to expand our influence, meet the people, recruit with the face of this order,” Kenna raised an eyebrow in question at this. “I believe that it would be in our best interests to begin a tour - a procession - across Thedas.” The inquisitor’s fingers paused in their journey down her waist length braid, entwined in the soft autumn red strands.

“A tour?” She giggled. “Am I a bard?” The grin slipped slowly from her full lips at the unchanging earnest expressions painted onto her companions faces.

“It would be a good opportunity to solidify you as a player in Orlesian politics and reaffirm your devotion to your Ferelden roots,” Josephine pushed forward. “Not to mention help secure some of the alliances we made during Celene’s ball. Many of the nobility will need…encouragement to follow through with deals not writ and signed.”

“I’m sure showing your face to potential recruits would do no harm either,” Cullen pointed out. “A speech from the Inquisitior could go far in stirring the hearts of Thedas’ fighters.” She glanced in surprise at the Commander, who she knew could not be savouring the idea of weeks on the road mingling with all the slippery and pompous nobility that Orlais had to offer. Neither could she, for that matter; her heart had sunk lower and lower within her at Josephine’s every word. Her every blunder at the Winter Palace seemed to fall cascading across her minds eye, forcing a hot blush to her cheeks despite it being weeks after the event. She scrambled wildly to think of arguments against the endeavour that her ambassador was proposing. Her distaste must have been plain, because Josephine quickly cut in.

“I thought it would be something a little more enjoyable than fighting demons and closing rifts,” she explained. “A necessary evil, but one of a lighter fair than we’re used to.” Leliana giggled beside her. The woman’s warm brown eyes were wide in baffled concern, and Kenna felt her bristles melt away in embarrassment. Of course Josie always had the best intentions. Of course Josie could not understand why perhaps a fade rift could be considered more inviting company than a masked entertainer. 

“I just don’t relish the idea of spending a whole month sleeping on a bedroll,” She explained honestly. “And I’m not sure my work at the winter palace did much good. If it weren’t for you three, I’m sure I could have started a civil war!” She gestured helplessly at her companions. The last part was especially true; while she had been trained for years on the subject of court etiquette, half a decade cloistered away in the circle had done much to erase that knowledge. Orlesian politics were especially foreign to her, having received a mostly Ferelden education at her estate, before the dreams had come and she had left for Ostwick. Leliana’s occasional whispered secret or a small nod from Josephine from across the room had been her lifeline within the gilded halls of Celene’s palace. Even Cullen had been a great help despite his constant protests that he was useless at such affairs. 

She knew he had been the Knight Captain in Kirkwall before the rebellion, a position not easily attained without some instinct for politics; he denied her every word of thanks, but his expertise had served her as much as the other advisers had. Surprisingly, Josephine beamed at Kenna’s protest.

“Of course it would not do to have the Inquisitor be seen camping out like a common Soldier. I have arranged for us to stay at the finest Inns along our path, as well as in the homes of several of Thedas’s more influential,” She explained, unfurling another scroll to point at several stops along a route penned carefully onto a small map. “And I assure you, the balls are vastly more entertaining when not also attempting to stop an assassination.” Kenna glanced at Leliana who smiled in confirmation.

“They serve the sweetest summer wines this time of year,” She sighed dreamily.

“How long would we be gone for?” The Inquisitior asked, running tired eyes across the painted hills and rivers of Thedas’ geography. “Who would tend to inquisition matters while we were away?” The prospect of weeks on the road was a daunting one, but a soft feather bed on the other hand…

“A month, maybe a month and a half if all goes well,” Josephine said. “Cassandra and Vivienne have already agreed to tend to your duties while we are away.”

“And we’ve already written up an itinerary for your review.” Cullen sent yet another scroll rolling across the table towards her with the flick of one long finger, forcing her to dip quickly to catch it before it reached the edge and tumbled to the floor. She raised an eyebrow as she opened it.

“I see you three have been busy,” she said dryly. Josephine blushed a delicate pink, stammering for her next words.

“We didn’t want to go over your head of course Inquisitor but,” She explained. “I did not want to burden you with the preparation.” Kenna bit back another sigh of frustration as she pulled at the fine golden twine keeping the last scroll sealed. She refused to show her frustration - not at her advisers, who were just doing their jobs - but at herself, at her dependency on them. The itinerary listed many places she had been expecting - Denerim, Val Royeaux - but her breath caught it her throat as her eyes brushed past the last item on the listen: her father’s estate. 

Goosebumps pushed across her pale skin as she mouthed his name etched out carefully in midnight black ink, the exact shade of his thick hair the last time she had seen him years ago. Had Josephine included him, she wondered, so that she would be forced to say yes to such a venture? Or had she simply guessed at the inquisitors homesickness?

“Alright,” she said finally, pushing the words out through a suddenly sickly dry throat. “How long before we leave?”

“Three days time,” Josephine breathed with a poorly concealed sigh of relief. Kenna nodded briskly, suddenly aching to be away from the war table, her advisors, her fathers name staring accusingly from the parchment clutch tightly in her fingers, yearning for the solitude of her rooms.

“I’ll be ready,” and she turned on her heal, arms full with maps and figures, and hurried out the room. She pressed the heavy doors closed behind her and took a deep breath of the frosty air that poured in from the collapsed wall beside her. A visit to her fathers estate. A month with no companions save her advisers. A month of courting Thedas’s most powerful nobility. Her head was heavy with worry for the coming weeks as she ascended the stairs to her bedchamber, already pulling out the budget she knew she would be reading well into the night.


	2. Farewell, my Friends!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inquisitions prepares for their fearless leader's departure.

The Inquisition rallied quickly to ready the colourful pros session that would be its leader’s home for the next weeks to delve into the forest of the Frostbacks peaks. One hundred men and women would be accompanying their march, and so one hundred dazzling new uniforms had to be made to outfit the soldiers that would form the entourage. Kenna was fetched from bed as the sun rose the next morning - rather, she would have been had she made it to her bed instead of falling asleep hunched over her writing desk - to examine swatches of fabric brought by a merchant summoned late the night before. Her first selection was a durable nude canvas, but this was quickly eschewed by both Vivienne and Josephine who had rushed to offer up their expertise to her in what she was assured was critically important matter.

“These are vanity uniforms Inquisitor,” Vivienne explained. “Care less about their functionality and more about the impression you wish to give.” The three eventually settled on a forest green velvet and metallic gold trim which they all agreed would make a pretty enough backdrop to set off her pale skin and stunningly red hair. It was, Kenna had to begrudgingly admit to herself, not unpleasant work; she enjoyed their time spent carefully comparing the myriad swatches of different colors and textures. She enjoyed less her woeful lack of knowledge in such an area, acquiescing easily to the expertise of her adviser and friend. She was thankful that in one area at least she did not have to be relied upon to make all of the tough decisions. 

A hundred new uniforms meant that there was a fleet of tailors camped out in the great hall for the better part of a day and a half, great swathes of fabric tumbled haphazardly across its cold cobblestones so that one had to pick their way carefully across it to get anywhere in the keep. Josephine was sat with them, her fingers furiously flying across a patch of green with needle and thread locked carefully within them. Sera was seen too nestled within the ring of people all stitching together the costumes carefully.

“What, you think I bought these in a store?” She laughed, indicating to her threadbare clothes when Kenna asked her about it. The elf was not so surprisingly nimble fingered, and before long had a neatly folded stack of uniforms sat behind her. 

A carriage had been commissioned from the woodworkers and blacksmiths residing within Skyholds walls, and by mid morning on the first day it’s grand exoskeleton was to be seen sitting in the courtyard. A flurry of strong, calloused hands kissed along its rough wooden beams like snowflakes In a flurry, shaping and smoothing the pale wood into a more pleasing design. She protested, as she felt she had at every stage of her advisers plans, to using a carriage as their main form of transportation.

“Why not something more practical,” She asked Cullen as he stood surveying the work from upon the battlements. “A caravan would be more spacious.” Kenna did not usually seek out the Commander if she could avoid him. There was an unfamiliarity to his face that always set her on edge; his deep, golden eyes seemed to hide too much, the firm line of his mouth never saying more than he had to. He was friendly to a point, true, but guarded. She spoke to him seldom because of this, preferring to harbour in safer waters. 

“It will be a cramped journey,” he admitted with a wry grin. “But I’m told that nothing will placate the nobility but a carriage to rival their own.” He paused. “Not that I care much for placating the nobility.” She laughed, making his head snap round in surprise. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered conspiratorially. He leaned in with exaggerated suspicion. “Me neither.” He smiled back, his delicate lips parting to reveal a row of perfect white teeth. She considered for a moment that she was not sure she had ever seen him smile before; the effect on such a serious face was entirely disarming. She was suddenly aware how close his body was to hers, and the sweet smell that hung about him like a veil. The Inquisitor took an involuntary step back, her hand slamming down to grab at the stone railing beside her. 

“Well,” She started, floundering for some way to finish the sentence she had started. He cleared his throat self consciously at her movement, straightening and assuming that stern, stoic mask that she saw him so often wearing. She missed his smile the moment it fell from his face. 

“Yes,” he shifted uncomfortably. “You probably have much to attend to. I am too - ah, busy that is. Lots to…attend to.” He gestured helplessly to his office behind him, taking a step back towards it. She thought she saw a blush creeping up his neck as she bid him goodbye and practically fled down the steps to the soft earth below but couldn’t be sure. As she paced quickly toward the Keep, she could not keep her heart from racing. 

She had to pack her bags thrice. The first time was with Sera, Kenna lying stomach down on her bed, scratching at the itinerary Josephine had provided with a furious quill, the elf rummaging animatedly through the chest that housed her clothes.

“So whats Josephine got planned for the big hurrah?” She asked as she pulled various garments out and held them up for inspection.

“A ball here, a dinner there, and – oh! Look at this, one wedding,” Sera wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“It won’t be all bad though, yeh?” She asked, throwing a dress onto the bed beside Kenna and tossing a pair of pants aside. “There’s bound to be some drinking, some pretty girls, and plenty of opportunity.” She grinned wickedly. The Inquisitor tossed aside her pen and pushed away the papers laid out before her, rising to rest on her heels. 

“Opportunity? For what?” She asked, voice dripping in mock distaste for the implied scandal. “Don’t you know that I’m a holy woman now?” The elf tossed a shirt at her in disapproval, hitting her in the face.

“Not like that, naughty,” She reprimanded. “I meant for mischief – pranks! Although,” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Even holy women could use a little…” She shimmied her shoulders, earning a laugh from Kenna even as she blushed at the implication. 

She had to pack her bags again later when she realized that Sera had neglected to include any of her small clothes. 

The third and final time Vivienne glided into her room upon daintily slippered feet, slim fingers pawing at Kenna’s hastily stuffed pack with distaste. She removed the majority of the younger woman’s travelling clothes, replacing them with a series of robes and dresses more suited for a stroll in the garden than for weeks on the road. In the end, the inquisitor was left only with one pair of comfortable leather britches and a fern green tunic that would match their forces new uniforms. 

The final day before their departure saw Kenna locked away in Josephine’s office as Her ambassador drilled her on every name, title, and family connection she could ever possibly encounter on their journey. The woman fired questions and exasperated answers with such rapidity and with such certainty that the inquisitor wondered that there was any space in her mind not totally occupied by the endeavor of remembering them all. The younger girl watched wistfully from her tiny window as the gilded Mabari were set upon her now almost completed carriage, a glimmering gourd awaiting their impending departure. 

Years ago, a thousand years ago, she had done something similar in a castle too far away now for her to remember its walls correctly. As a girl she had sat in her room, not unlike the one she sat in now, while a woman not unlike Josephine asked her questions not unlike the ones she was struggling to answer correctly. Her aunt had been her teacher after her mother had died. Before her magic had manifested, when she still believed she would be inheriting her fathers estate, it had been her duty to know all of Fereldens nobility; her aunt had been patient and kind, but an unforgiving mentor that would drill Kenna for hours. She had forgotten almost everything in the weeks after she first arrived at the circle. How silly of her, she pondered as she stared at a tiny Blackwall below hoisting a heavy and gleaming hound onto his shoulders, to forget with what her future held. 

By sunset of the evening before their departure she had a passing knowledge of the lineages of every person Josephine predicted she was likely to meet, and an even scanter knowledge of Orlesian etiquette she had not had to know for the empresses ball. 

The next morning she hugged her companions goodbye as their entourage tossed chests and packs into the string of caravans that would be following their coach; she found herself moved almost to tears at the thought of leaving them all for an entire month. She had made few friends in her circle tower, and those she did she had known well for only a scant couple of years. After the rebellion had freed her, it was difficult tracking down those she had known from her past, nameless life. Those that she could find, or who had not moved too far for her to reach, balked at entertaining a Mage apostate in most cases. Within the folds of the inquisition was the first time in many years she has found people she could depend upon, confide in, call friends. 

She sniffed sorrowfully as Sera pecked her playfully on the cheek, gasped as Blackwall pulled her into a furious hug that lifted her onto her toes. Bull slapped her back so forcefully that she stumbled backwards and had to be caught from out of the air by a startled Cullen. She spared hardly a word of thanks before tears overwhelmed her in earnest and she had to be bundled into the waiting carriage lest she lose her nerve to set out at all. As their carriage pulled away on the heals of fifty marching men, her advisors knees jostling against her own, she watched her friends slowly disappear from view behind Skyholds drawbridge, wondering when she would see them again.


	3. Joyful Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just connecting the dots here. Hopefully some fun stuff coming soon :)

The first evening Kenna spent in a plush feather bed after soaking road-weary muscles in a deep, hot, lavender bath. The inn Josephine had found for their journey’s beginning, just on the outskirts of the Frostback mountains, had been all that was promised: absolutely blissfully wonderful. The food had been rich and plentiful, the wine light and fresh, and even the prospect of another day rubbing knees with her advisers could not quench the delight she felt falling into that soft mattress sometime after sunset. Visions of another bath were dancing through her mind when the coach pulled in through the open gates of the first Estate on their tour.

"This is the estate of Benoit Gelinaux,” Josephine was saying as Kenna stared out the window at the white topped topiaries they passed. “Relatively new nobility, only two generations ago raised to lordship. They don’t hold the most sway with the other Orlesian families.”

“Why are we bothering with them then?” Cullen asked sullenly. Kenna expected he was missing the unobtrusive comforts of the previous night as much as she was. He, at least, was permitted his usual attire of britches and a simple tunic. Josephine and Leliana had spent the better part of an hour earlier in the day pouring her into a tightly corseted gown. 

“What Lord Gelinaux lacks in influence he makes up for in wealth. He controls a large portion of trade between Orlais and Ferelden.”

“And while he is not officially permitted to staff armed reserves of his own,” Leliana explained. “several leaders of more prolific mercenary bands have found their way into his employ under various titles” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at Kenna. 

“So we are to woe these leaders this evening, I assume?” She asked.

“Precisely,” Josephine finished. “Recruiting men from the Orlesian national guard would require a good deal of work, but swords bought and paid for are a simpler fare.” The Inquisitor suspected that were it not for the minor Lord’s proximity to their route to the capital Josephine would not have bothered him at all. 

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, pulling the braid that she had insisted the two women let her weave as they rode over her shoulder to hang across her chest. If this was to be her life for the following weeks - speeches and dinners and honeyed tongues and daggered eyes - she would make the most of it. She tried to replace the nervous stammering of her fingers with excitement for the evening to come. She was glad that their first stop was with one of Orlais lesser lordlings; how much damage could she possibly do to the inquisition’s reputation with such a minor noble family? 

The castle which would house them sat in the center of a sprawling town, almost large enough to be called a city. It’s streets were wide and winding, all silver slick cobblestones in the dim light of sunset, shadowing the neat shopfronts and swinging tavern signs that rimmed their pros session. Swaths of people lined the streets on either side of them, cheering at the soldiers on their march and peering excitedly into the windows of their carriage, trying to get a glimpse of the famed inquisitor. Kenna looked away from the eager faces. 

There was a commotion outside as they pulled up to the towering steps that lead the way towards the squat building, men yelling commands and a sudden stomping of feet before they drew to a halt. Through the barely parted curtains covering the carriage’s windows she could see a staircase stretching up to the great doors of the Lord’s home, as well as his personal guard stretching out in two neat rows like wings from the vehicle’s exit. 

Cullen sighed and gave a shrug before pushing open the carriage door and stepping out. A gust of wind tumbled in through the parting, pulling goosebumps across every inch of Kenna’s exposed skin, making her suddenly wish that she had chosen a gown with longer sleeves and a higher collar. She waited as Leliana slipped out after Cullen, and then Josephine, giving her one last smile of encouragement. From her vantage point she could only see the bottom step, and standing upon it a pair of shockingly emerald green boots. She took one shaking breath and stood, stepping out behind her more steady companions. 

Cullen’s gloved hand caught her own, all soft leather and warm pads against the chill as he held her weight, supporting her dismount to the snow covered stone below. He squeezed her silk wrapped fingers gently before letting her go, and when she turned to him the faintest of smiles flashed briefly across his face, gone quickly back to his commander’s mask in an instant. She resisted the urge to brush her own fingers across the places his had been moments before as its ghost lingered against her flesh. Her heart thundered. 

She crossed the yards to her host quickly through the tunnel of bodies his guard had provided; upon the steps he stood all of him clad in the same bright green as his boots. His face was pocked and textured, his eyes the same swampy brown as his hair, and his body was lean and agile. He reminded her, in his garish attire, of a smiling crocodile. The illusion was somewhat shattered by the elaborate bow he dropped into as she approached him.

“My dearest Inquisitor! What an honor it is to lay my humble eyes upon you at last,” He exclaimed as he swept in a wild arc upwards. They were of a height, his eyes level with hers. She gave a nod of her head, unwilling to attempt a curtsy. 

“Lord Gelinaux! What a most sublime treat to see you after a long day on the road,” She greeted him. “I have very much been wishing to thank you for your offer of hospitality on our journey.” He waved a hand as if to swat away her pleasantries. 

“And here I have been waiting to thank you for filling my too often empty halls with the inquisition’s presence,” He grinned wildly, his eyes too wide. “So perhaps we can simply agree the arrangement honors everyone involved and get to the exciting stuff?” 

“Please,” She held her hand in offering, and he took it into the crook of his arm, turning towards the doors before them. “I do so yearn for some excitement.” He laughed heartily as he led her up the stairs. 

“I somehow doubt that lady Inquisitor.”

“You’re welcome to call me Kenna,” She offered her name to him despite Josephine’s warnings of becoming overly familiar with their hosts; inquisitor was a name that she could not bare to don all of her time. 

“How kind! And then you must call me Benoit.” 

“A handsome title.” 

“Unfortunately, I did not choose it, but I will pass the compliment on to my dear mother,” The doors swung open before them and they entered a torch lit courtyard. A soft dusting of snow covered its stones, and towering grey walls rose to all sides. A cluster of men was waiting for them as they approached, all decorated just as delicately in fat wet flakes of white. They bowed low as she approached, though not with the same mania as their lord. “Some of my staff who were a bit more eager to meet you,” He explained. 

“So many,” She wondered aloud. The group seemed much too large for the normal estate retinues that sometimes greeted her, made up usually of heads of various functions of palace upkeep. 

“Well, yes,” He adjusted his grip on her arm and cleared his throat. “Some of them have very specialized positions under my employ.” She raised her eyebrows in understanding at the explanation; these were mercenary captains. 

“While their attention is very flattering, I’m afraid they will have to wait a little longer to properly meet the inquisitor, who is quite exhausted from a day on the road,” Josephine appeared beside her, laying a protective hand on the small of her back. Benoit bowed away, releasing her arm. 

“Of course, how rude of me. You must need time to rest,” He motioned to a man among the group, who rushed forward. “Someone will take you to your rooms to refresh yourselves. I am also hosting a dinner this evening in honor of your stay, during which you will have an opportunity to meet the subjects of your interest properly then, I am sure.” 

“How lovely!” Josephine smiled warmly. “We would be happy to attend.” 

“Excellent, shall I send a man to fetch you sometime before we begin?” 

“That would be much appreciated,” said Kenna. 

“We are thankful for the hospitality,” Leliana said as she slipped by the trio, already following the man as he led them across the courtyard to the visitors wing. Josephine strode to catch up to the spymaster, and Kenna trailed behind, Cullen bringing up the rear of the short procession. While chill had fallen around the courtyard as night swept across the sky, the halls of the estate were warm and brightly lit by torches that peppered the walls every few feet. Plush carpet made way under their damp leather boots as the steward showed them the way to their rooms, past portraits of the Gelinaux past, she assumed. 

“A lot of faces on these walls for a relatively newly noble family,” A deep voice remarked. She glanced in surprise at Cullen, who’s steps had fallen in time with her own. The fur of his mantle brushed at her cheek. 

“Quite. I wonder how many were painted this year,” She chuckled. 

“Business must be booming for Orlesian painters, all on Benoits coin,” He laughed. “I have never understood such vanity.” 

“You would not understand vanity Cullen,” She remarked idly. “What use could you have for it?” Her eyes slid across his face, across his pert nose and full lips, the brows that arched delicately above high cheekbones, the scar that rippled across the flesh of his mouth. He was undeniably handsome; women must have told him enough that he need never look in a mirror. 

“What use?” He wondered. “I’m not sure what you mean, inquisitor.” Her lips froze even as they parted, unwilling to let ‘handsome’ slip through them, and unable to think of any other explanation for her comment. She settled eventually on an awkward laugh. 

“I know, how terribly cryptic of me! Perhaps this thing is really getting to me,” she wiggled her gloved hand, the rippling gash of the anchor hidden beneath the fabric. His brows pulled downward into a stoic frown.

“Perhaps,” he seemed to be thinking aloud. “You should be careful then. It would be a tragedy to lose the heart of the woman who had to bear that mark.” As if summoned, she felt her pulse quicken. A tragedy? she wondered; she had assumed the commander had thought of her as, at best, an annoyance unfortunately burdened with the task of being his leader. Perhaps she had not irked him so? Or perhaps it was politeness guiding his tone, she could never seem to read his motives or his moods.

“I think I have a long way to fall before this heart is truly lost, never fear,” she promised jovially. “I think I could find use for a more sober nature as it stands. Benoit seems friendly enough but I must admit some foreboding about the night ahead.”

“I’m relieved myself that I won’t be in attendance,” he replied. Her head snapped to face him, calm plastered like rebellion against his carved features.

“Won’t be in attendance? If I have to suffer you have to suffer, dear commander,” she hissed this last, careful to whisper so as not to let the steward hear but unable to keep the venom from her tone. “You would abandon me so easily?” He chuckled.

“I doubt I would be of much assistance in this matter, inquisitor. I hardly have a diplomat’s training.” She floundered for some excuse as to why he should be there. Her brewing protests were delayed by the steward turning to address the pair. 

“These are your rooms, lady inquisitor,” He indicated to a thick, richly painted door to his left. His slender fingers pushed it open, revealing the quarters within. “Commander, yours are the neighboring suite.” He indicated to the door’s partner some yards down the long hall. His eyebrows shot up. 

“How lovely,” he replied. 

“Thank you. If you could have my men bring the trunk from my carriage?” She replied. The steward bowed and turned to lead Leliana and Josephine to their quarters further down. She turned back to her commander, fury bristling the hair on her neck. “Please. Please, come.” She winced at how pathetic she sounded; she had intended for the plea to sound more authoritative. He sighed. 

“I don’t think I’ll be much help, inquisitor.” She bit her lip, letting one gloved hand finger the contours of her long braid. Her eyes wandered over the line of his jaw, down his neck and across his broad chest rather than meet his gaze. 

“You sell yourself short Cullen,” His name sounded unfamiliar from her lips, so used to wrapping themselves around the title ‘commander’ instead. She forced herself to look at him. “You are a diplomat, of a sort. And these are men of war. I need your guidance – no, I want you there. I want your help.” It was not an easy thing of him to ask. Her request hung between them for a moment, heavy on her chest, both of them refusing to answer her request. Eventually,

“Then I would be happy to accompany you, my lady,” Was his short reply. She breathed a gust of relief, and grinned wildly, like a child up at him.

“Thank you, thank you!” She exclaimed, her heart lighter than it had been in days. “I’ll make it exciting, I promise.” But he was already turning away from her and slipping through the door and into his rooms beyond.


	4. A Fine Feast

She entered the dining hall some hours later, sewn into a fresh gown and capped with a slim Orlesian dining mask; Josephine held her arm like a suitor as their names were called, introducing them to the full room. Her first thought was that Benoit's dining hall seemed nothing like those in the Winter Palace. While the ballroom there had seemed to stretch like a field before the empress's guests who poured in through its grand double doors, this room was a cozy, densely packed haven. A large hearth covered two thirds of the wall that opposed the hall’s main entrance, lighting the mahogany table that occupied most of the space in the room with a flickering glow that danced across it’s varnished surface. The walls were richly papered with a pattern of cream and forest green, interrupt in intervals by hanging tapestries sewn in similar shades to depict scenes of the region’s wondrous landscapes. White capped mountains towered on one, straining under the weight of delicately woven snowflakes, while the next showed a lush and vibrant forest, leaves not yet turned orange in the heat of a late summer. High backed chairs, mostly already occupied, lined the table atop a marbled floor, while above a chandelier of cascading antlers added to the glow of the fire from the hearth. 

“His private dining hall,” Josephine whispered to her as they made their way to the head of the table. “An interesting setting.” The choice lent an intimacy to the congregation; a familiar dinner between friends, rather than a formal one between political allies. A bold choice, she considered as they approached their host. Benoit stood as he saw her approach, raising his full goblet in greeting. 

“Inquisitor! We have been waiting eagerly for your appearance,” He smiled. “Come, please sit.” She lowered herself into the seat directly to his right as he sank back into his chair at the head of the table. Josephine took the empty chair beside her, relinquishing the protective grip she had maintained on Kenna’s arm until then. 

“With pleasure, Benoit,” She replied. “I have heard many tales of Orlesian cooking! I must admit that being fashionably late on this one occasion proved to be quite a chore.” A young woman appeared from behind to fill her empty glass with a rich, red wine as she greeted him. Kenna’s long fingers found its stem quickly, and she drank a long and deeply for a moment, savoring the warm, spiced drink as it fell across her eager tongue. 

“I can appreciate a woman who is frank about her desires, Inquisitor,” He replied. “And one with a most voracious appetite.” It was a cheeky response. She turned to Josephine to hide the blush she felt warming her cheeks, taking a smaller sip of wine. Her adviser saved her, laughing at the jest. 

“We are lucky to have a passionate woman as our Inquisitor, my lord. Passionate women can change the world,” She replied. He nodded thoughtfully. 

“I do not disagree Ambassador,” he raised his brows and tilted his head at the table beyond. “And I think you will find that most here share that belief, and my appreciation for a plainer tongue than many with such passion usually show.” It was a word of advice: speak plainly to these men of war. As if I could speak any other way, she thought. 

She glanced down the table at the other guests gathered along its perimeter. Few women had found their way within the hall, and those who were in attendance were not the familiarly waifish slips of women that sometimes milled about Orlesian social gatherings. These ones, like the men they sat alongside, dressed plainly, though smartly; their masks were simple, or nonexistent, their gowns practical, and their laughter bold and brash as any soldier’s. While some of their male companions bore the marks of nobility, she had no trouble picking the mercenary captains out among the crowd. 

She tried to spot her commander among the rows, but could not find his distinct, golden crown of hair, the familiar smile, the deep golden eyes she searched for. Her stomach flipped as her eyes glazed across each face that did not belong to him, a knot of worry twisting it like a rag within her. Had he decided not to come after all?

“You will have a chance to speak to most, never fear,” Benoit assured her, seeing the frown that tugged at the corners of her pout. “But now I believe you have held back your appetite long enough, Inquisitor, and must be starving from so long on the road. Let dinner be served.” He waved his hand at the women behind him and within moments the first course was being ushered through the wide doors behind her. A bounty of platters were scattered across the dining hall, brought on silver platters and laid before them by neatly groomed servers who hovered around the halls perimeters, having delivered their precious loads. 

Benoit was an eager host, offering her the sweetest and most flavorful parts of each dish, encouraging her to try those she had never encountered before. He ate heartily himself, never seeming to worry about the next course as he ate his fill from each, piling his plate high with his kitchen’s work. By the third course she was full, by the fifth, stuffed. Still, with each wave of his hand, another dish was brought forth, as though the dinner would be endless. Her goblet remained full through each passing of the young serving girl who seemed to be entirely focused on providing for the Inquisitor, despite Kenna never calling for more wine, or indeed she thought, even realizing she had finished a glass. 

She thought, as the serving girl poured again from the pitcher that never seemed to empty, that the heat of the fire still crackling in the hearth seemed suddenly unbearable; her face was pink and flushed from its warmth. As each course was brought in her partner’s at her end of the table seemed to switch as well. She spoke animatedly of dragons to the first man who sat across from her, gasping prettily at his tale of stealing one’s horns to carve his great battle ax, but as Benoit piled some sliced duck onto her plate she turned to see her companion had been replaced by another. 

To him she spoke of the cold in the Frostbacks and the warmth of a finely made pelt, and of his trophies from hunting the creatures that bore them. To the next of Orlesian politics, the next of the blight, on and on the dance of her partners seemed to continue until she could no longer remember one from the next. At some point in the evening Josephine left her, wandering down the long table to sit with one of the women in the beautiful masks; by that time the wine had dulled her fear and her senses, and she barely noticed as the ambassador slipped away. Each time she turned to see a new face a brief, glowing hope that Cullen’s imposing figure would be sitting across from her welled in her chest, only to be dashed away as she realized he was not with her – until, he was. 

“How easily I fall for your tricks Inquisitor,” a deep and golden as honey voice breathed against her neck. “Making me think you would needed me to charm this congregation.” She held her posture carefully, resisting the overwhelming urge to snap her head around to face him. She felt, rather than saw, him sink into the seat Josephine had vacated some time before. The smell of him, pine and leather and some smokey scent she could not identify, filled her despite the crackling fire, the food laid before them, the wine halfway to her lips, the other man sitting across the table now completely forgotten. She could not remember him smelling so good before. 

“I was worried you had not come, Commander,” His title was chosen carefully; saying his name, she thought, now, would sound sinful. She did not look at him as she spoke. 

“I am the inquisition’s diligent servant, as ever,” He explained, raising his own goblet to his lips. “I would never shirk my duty so.” His face hovered at the corner of her vision. Within her something seemed suddenly to plummet; her hands felt cold, her face even warmer. 

“Your duty?” She wondered aloud. Her heart was beating too quickly. 

“Yes, though not an unpleasant one,” He rested one hand on the back of her chair, leaning towards her. Now she could smell his breath, mint and red wine laced together. “But as it turns out you did not need me at all. I had no idea you could be so charming, when the occasion called.” She glanced at him sharply, only to see a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Sir, you wound me,” She breathed, letting herself giggle at the jest. “I happen to be a very charming woman.” The room shook around her; she was so dizzy, had she drank that much? He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. 

“How you have fooled me up until now, if that is the case,” He laughed. They spoke these words too quiet for the rest of the table to hear, from the moment he sat down locked intimately in their own space, their own world, unaware of the clamor about them – the eye of some quiet storm. It was an unfriendly clearing of the throat that caused the Inquisitor to remember where she was, and what she was doing. 

“Oh,” she cried, turning back to the man across the table from her. “I’m sorry, you were interrupted sir -” She faltered at his name, trying to banish the blush crawling up her neck. Her partner frowned petulantly.

“Halden,” He muttered. 

“Of course, Halden!” She exclaimed, attempting to salvage the conversation. Halden was the commander of one of the larger groups under Benoit’s employ, conveniently, as he was introduced, working as ‘head of culinary purchases’, a position which she knew did not exist in any Orlesian household. 

“I was saying, Inquisitor, that I have not yet had the pleasure of learning what you business you were employed in before the rift split our skies,” Her breath caught in her throat. “A post in the Ferelden armed forces, perhaps?” Her heart thundered under uncomfortably hot skin, prickling with goosebumps as she searched for a reply. I was a mage, she thought. I was a rebel and a deserter. But her tongue could not say the words – she could not let herself say those words. Silence dragged on for a beat, and then -   
“The Inquisitor was a scholar, of sorts,” Cullen spoke with conviction. “An ambitious one. She studied at the circle tower until the events at Kirkwall.” Halden seemed to wait for more information to be offered, but her commander was less than forthcoming. 

“And after the circle tower?” He pressed when neither of the people sitting across the table seemed about to share any more information. 

“Well, I’m sure you know the history,” Cullen dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “But you know as well as I, it matters little what our Inquisitor did before the rift, before the fade began pouring like water slowly into this world. What matters is what she has done after.” He looked at her, slowly, deliberately. “Which is a damn sight more than you or I have done.” She blushed harder at the compliment, and fled from his gaze in the face of the other man. He seemed to consider for a moment, before nodding gravely.   
“Aye, this is true enough,” He admitted. “Its an important thing you are doing, Inquisitor. An admirable thing.” She nodded her head graciously at the compliment, regaining some composure.

“I thank you for such kind words, Halden, though I have yet to feel as if I have earned them,” She said. “I will need the support of men like you in the coming weeks, if I am to make much of a difference at all.” He nodded gravely, swigging roughly from the tankard sat in his meaty hands. 

“And you can count on it, I’ll promise you that much,” He said. She beamed at him, an honest smile. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” He rose soon after, shuffling his way down the table to make the seat available for one of the many others clambering to speak to the young woman sitting at the head of the table. She sighed in relief as he slipped away. 

“I do need you after all,” She admitted. 

“Sometimes,” Cullen conceded, smiling at her, his eyes shimmering in the dancing light of the fire. She wondered, then, how she had ever thought him cold; he seemed the warmest thing on earth. 

He did not leave her side until well into the night, when most of the other guests had retired or wandered off in groups in search of more lively entertainment for the evening. She had to be pulled up by Josephine, who apologized to their host for leaving but explained that they had hours on the road the next day to make the next stop on their tour before the evening. She parted from the dinner willingly, but from her commander grudgingly. Have I ever spoken to him so freely? She wondered. 

As she took the arm of the woman leading her through the doors and towards her rooms, and as the scent of him faded from her lungs and the sight of him from the backs of her eyelids, she could think of little else at all.


	5. Let me Touch you Kindly, Sister

Kenna’s back hit the inside of her door with exaggerated force as she tumbled into it, her limbs sag and sway beneath her as she let out a tired breath. It’s oak frame supported her even as she let her knees buckle, sliding down its surface and lowering herself to the ground. Her ass hit the stone floor with a thud and, her head knocked the wooden door with a sharp rap, and she closed her eyes and let out a quiet moan. The ache in her limbs that had hounded her since she had entered her carriage that morning was only partially dulled by the wine; an evening with strange eyes upon her had done nothing to relieve her weary muscles. Every inch of her groaned to be stretched, moved, worked, even as exhaustion leaded her movement. Though her corset squeezed at the flesh of her somewhat ample gut she could not, for several moments, bring herself to stand to undress. Perhaps I could sleep on the floor, she thought, considering the comfort of the cool stones beneath and the span that separated her and the great mass of four poster bed that was nestled against one wall of the large room. 

It was minutes before she sighed in discomfort and pushed herself up, stepping on her long gown as she tried to rise from the ground and sending herself stumbling. With a grimace she began pulling on the wiry threads of her corset, pulling them open with one hand and lifting her skirts with the other. 

The steward, she saw, had seen to delivering the trunk of her clothes neatly packed in her carriage, and had left it pushed against one wall. She flung it open, moaning with pleasure as the corset fell from her figure and was flung with distaste into the neatly folded clothes stored within. Her mask joined it, then the silk gloves she had taken to wearing when in company, a dense black pair meant to hide the glowing mark that ebbed painfully in her right hand. She stretched her fingers experimentally as she did, but avoided looking at the anchor’s putrid green light. She fumbled with the buttons, gave up, and tried to pull the heavy fabric gown over her head. Eventually, she had to settle for half unbuttoning, half squirming from the bulky dress, sweating in her small clothes as this too was deposited in a heap into the waiting maw of her chest. 

She collapsed onto the bed, arms outstretched like a bird in flight, letting the cool air press against her bare flesh which still prickled with a fierce heat, from the fire or the wine or her commander she could not tell. There was a sharp rap on the door, and she raised her head to stare blankly at its wooden back. She considered briefly pretending to be asleep before a voice called out from the other side. 

“Its me Kenna, let me in!” She bounded across the floor in three quick steps and threw the door open, her hands grasping Leliana’s as she pulled the woman quickly inside. 

“Thank the maker its you,” She breathed with relief. “I thought perhaps it was Josephine, or worse, Benoit.” Leliana laughed her sweet, gentle laugh and flung back her hood, revealing hair as bright and fiery as Kenna’s. 

“Was the feast so terrible that you would hide from your ambassador?” She asked, taking a seat on Kenna’s bed. 

“To the contrary, I think it went well,” She admitted. A pause, “I think, anyway.” 

“You would know if it didn’t,” Leliana said. “And I had the utmost faith in you Inquisitor. I knew you would not let me down.” Kenna beamed as she sank into the deep, cushioned mattress beside her spymaster, thankful for the woman’s honest praise. 

“What brings you out so late? I did not see you there this evening and thought you would be sleeping by now,” Kenna asked. 

“Spymasters rarely rest, sweet,” She chided. “Truthfully I came to see you. I know you don’t find these things easy.” She thought of Cullen’s arm on the back of her chair, his breath against her neck. 

“It wasn’t so bad, this time,” She said. “It was a small affair, very intimate. Perhaps you would have enjoyed yourself?” Leliana snorted.

“Please think me more worldly than that Kenna,” She laughed. “And of the captains? Did they seem to your liking?” 

“They were polite, mostly. Many were interested in our work, and I am sure at least some will take the opportunity to escape the dull work so far from the rest of Orlais – if the pay is good enough.” 

“Josephine I’m sure will sort out the find details,” She waived a hand dismissively. “Were any handsome?” Kenna snorted out an undignified laugh of surprise. 

“Handsome?” She exclaimed. 

“Yes, handsome,” Leliana pushed. “Good to look upon, pleasing to the eye, of fine features and in possession of wit and grace? Perhaps you have met such a man before.” She thought of the men who she had met tonight, their rough features and rougher hands. She thought of Cullen. 

“No, I don’t think so,” She laughed again. Her fingers found the braid hanging behind her back and she pulled it over her shoulder to finger it absently. Her spymaster sighed in mock disappointment. She reached out and turned Kenna, pulling her legs up so that she sat cross legged on the bed behind her. She pulled the braid from Kenna’s grip and began the tiresome work of pulling it loose, her fingers working deftly between the tightly corded strands. 

“Such a shame, I was hoping you would meet someone to your liking,” She explained. 

“To my liking? In the Frostbacks?” She asked with derision. 

“Perhaps too ambitious a goal, you’re right,” Leliana replied. “But I want you to have some fun while we’re here, while you’re working so hard. There has been little respite for us since the fade opened, since we climbed our way to Skyhold and split apart the weeds and vines holding it hostage and made it out home.”

“Its not been so bad,” Kenna protested halfheartedly. Leliana was right, she knew, as the weariness in her muscles was evidence enough. Alexius, Haven, the Fade, the Winter Palace, one disaster after another hounded Thedas like a pack of wild dogs, and none of her companions, nor her, had enjoyed much rest since the rift had pulled apart the heavens. 

“You do not have to be strong all the time, sweet,” Her voice was soft and gentle. “Do you forget? I am no stranger to saving the world. I have known this hardship before, know how it feels, know how it clutches at your body.” She brushed soft finger tips across Kenna’s neck as she pulled apart a lose strand of hair, sending a shiver slinking down her spine and deep into her gut. It was easy to forget, looking at Leliana’s face that still seemed so young, her time with the Hero of Ferelden when the blight had last threatened the country’s peace. 

“How did she do it?” Her voice shook. “The Warden, I mean. How did she manage to stay sane with all that against her – with so few allies, so many obstacles?” 

“She knew how to relax,” Leliana chided. Kenna was taken aback. 

“You’re simplifying it,” She protested. She felt the spymaster shrug.

“Perhaps a little,” She admitted. “But its true. I could tell you some mad tales, Inquisitor! She was a strong woman, a gentle woman, a clever woman, but in her too was something wild. She knew how to have fun, as you must when the odds are against you.” She was surprised; Kenna spoke of the Hero of Ferelden little, and the small amount of information she had gleaned from others spoke only of her deeds, never of her character. Of course, most knew the tales of her valour, but few knew the woman herself. 

“If only I could remember how,” Kenna sighed. Leliana’s fingers had made their way almost to her crown, and her fingernails scratched gently at her scalp. 

“You were not always the Inquisitor. What did you do then?” She asked. Kenna scoffed. 

“In the circle? We dreamed of freedom. Or read books,” She replied lamely. 

“Well then before the circle. I know your powers were discovered when you were relatively old for such things, certainly when you were old enough to have caused some trouble around your father’s palace,” Leliana pushed. The memories seemed faded, as if they belonged to another person and had found their way through misadventure to Kenna, who guarded them carefully. She handled them seldom, preferring to keep them pushed to the back of her mind, buried under spells and alchemic formulas, under the names of her allies and the sounds of her companion’s voices, under the things she had learned since her circle had been destroyed and she had been unleashed onto a new world. 

She had been too old when she was taken there, older than most others when their magic was discovered. It was unexpected, a curse that no one in her family had before encountered; she never knew who was more shocked at the discovery, her or her father. But in that she was lucky, as she had grown and lived before they had locked her away, and though hazy she could remember what it was like to live unburdened. 

“I had a friend,” She explained. “And we would sneak out together sometimes, and go into town, and hang in the taverns, or walk by the bay or wander the streets – anything we wanted really.” 

“You would just walk out?” Her partner asked, surprised. 

“No, he would bring me costumes,” She smiled at the thought. “Maid’s clothes, a housewife’s dress, something of that sort. I would tie my hair and slip on some dreary rag and no one would guess that such an urchin held the station I did.” 

“We could do that,” Leliana suggested. Kenna snorted.

“I’m sure that would go over so well with the locals,” Leliana’s fingers parted her hair, now completely free and hanging in loose waves to her lower back. “No one blends in like the Inquisitor.”

“I’m serious Kenna. Maybe not as a maid or a serving woman, but as something else…” Her voice trailed off as she slipped off the bed, eyebrows pushed together in concentration. She fell to the chest pushed against one wall open, slim fingers tapping at the intricate pattern laid out across its carved wooden surface as she began examining its contents. “Aha!” She finally exclaimed. “Bless Josephine, she does always come prepared.” She whipped around, proudly holding a slip of dark fabric aloft.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Kenna frowned.

“Its a cap!”

“Okay. For what?” Leliana sighed and sunk back into the bed.

“Not a serving woman, noblewoman,” She explained patiently. Kenna rolled her eyes, struggling to push down the nervous energy blooming somewhere within her.

“What are you talking about?” She asked.

“We could disguise ourselves as noblewomen!” Leliana exclaimed. “Visiting dignitaries, maybe from the next town over – thrilled to have a chance to see the inquisitor in the flesh.” Kenna pushed images of herself in the series of beautiful Orlesian gowns Josephine had chosen for her, jewels glittering in the delicate light of tavern fire, from her mind.

“How exactly do I do that? I’m not easy to miss,” She held up her hand, pulling long fingers apart as she pushed the ever glowing green gash splitting her palm towards her spymaster to prove her point.

“Like this,” Leliana replied with no small amount of confidence. A wild grin pulled at her cheeks as she slipped the cap she had held aloft moments ago onto her head; the garment covered her hair entirely, black satin enshrouding her bob and hovering at the edges of her perfect porcelain skin. Gold trim travelled along its opening, and where the two sides met just below her chin was a row of delicate golden buttons leading down her neck and beyond. The piece pulled down into a wide point halfway to Leliana’s breast, the entire headdress covering everything from the top of her head, to the tops of her shoulders, to her chest just below her collarbones. Kenna’s hands began to tingle.

“You’re serious?” She asked. “Just put on a cap and a mask and sneak out?”

“Of course.”

“But the inquisition-”

“Will not know you’re missing for a few hours for one night,” Leliana interrupted. “You’re the inquisitor, not dead. I know you miss having family, friends, lovers…” Kenna blushed furiously at the last, tucking her face into the palm of one hand to hide her sudden flush. “Don’t pretend Kenna. Others may not recognize the blush of a distracted women, but I know you better.” She groaned at the implication.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” She protested. “And I doubt Josephine would approve of me adopting any of those things into the inquisition.” Leliana pouted.

“You paint her cruelly – she wants whats best for you,” She said. “And anyway, Josephine doesn’t need to know everything you do.” The venture was tempting; it had been so long since she had felt the warmth of simple company. Half a decade since the last time she just sat and laughed, sweet wine in one hand and a bard’s tune filling warm evening with the trembles and staccatos of some bawdy tale – half a decade since she had pressed deep into another, slipping into shadows with hands a tangle in their hair and fingers gripping at her waist. She could not linger on such thoughts for long, so enticing a picture did they make for her; it was easy to forget what the inquisition was fighting for when she was so lonely.

“You know it would be a disaster,” Kenna explained. “Anything I did – anyone I was with, they would have spread the details across half of Orlais by the morning.”

“You are a powerful woman, Inquisitor,” Leliana said the last word as if to remind her. “If you think men everywhere are not already telling such tails, you are naive beyond salvation.” This was true; Kenna had heard rumours of her exploits firsthand; it seemed she had been a busy woman in Thedas, if tavern tales were ever to be believed. She moved to finger her braid and found only loose strands of hair. Instead she began to chew nervously on one nail.

“You really think we could do it?” She asked. Leliana smiled, tossing the cowl onto the bed as she leapt up.

“I really think we are doing it, Inquisitor,” She laughed as she backed up, tossing the shroud onto the bed and opening the door with one hand. “I’ll meet you by the servants entrance in half an hour. Wear something beautiful.” She she slipped out the door. Kenna heard Leliana mutter a muffled greeting to someone in the hall outside before the heavy door slid closed behind her, leaving the inquisitor alone in silence. She did nothing for several moments, teeth still pressed into one slim fingernail. Half a decade since she had done something as silly as this. She shouldn’t do it, but the idea of being with someone again was more enticing than any of the power the entire inquisition had to offer. 

Had she met anyone handsome? The question danced dizzyingly through her mind. Was it selfish to wish for such a thing? No, she decided eventually. I deserve to live. And with the smell of pine and leather in her lungs she set about finding a dress.

**Author's Note:**

> Just something a bit self indulgent to get me into the habit of writing again! Hope all enjoy :)


End file.
